


Venus de Milo Has Got Nothing on You

by holyzarrialltrinity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyzarrialltrinity/pseuds/holyzarrialltrinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I guess I should go back and finish staring at a Pollock painting. All those splats really get me going.”<br/>“Really? You’re into weird stuff like that.”<br/>“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”</p>
<p>Prompt: Harry works in the Met and Zayn doesn't really get art but he really likes Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venus de Milo Has Got Nothing on You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [2wistful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2wistful/gifts).



> S/O to 2wistful, this one's for you! All of your prompts were really good and I honestly wish I could have done them all, but I just picked this since it sounded the most adorable. I'm praying to the lucky stars above that you like it. Thanks to my beta for your advice.

Zayn had never honestly thought about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. It was a broad yet slightly life-changing choice and he tended to stay away from those.

He hated those surveys in high school that pressured you about the future. What schools are you applying to? What do intend on majoring in? Where do you see yourself in 5-10 years? Have you thought about your career? He hated the way parents and relatives always asked about university and whether or not you were going to become a doctor or a lawyer or someone with 5 0's on their checks. His grandmother had completely deluded herself into thinking he would be the first Pakistani MP.

He was interested in a lot of things but there just nothing he felt like committing a 40 hour week to. Plus with his grades and exam results, he sort of had his pick of universities drooling at his feet. So, he closed his eyes, spun around, and went wherever his feet stopped at. He'll never forget the look on his parents face when he announced that he was going to art school. Or his grandmother screaming at him in her native language and proceeding to soundly slap him across the face. They eventually got over it but she still she felt justified in her actions.

He was no Da Vinci but the graffiti and drawings he did in his spare time were sufficient, he thought. If anyone had to go to school for art, then it only meant that they weren't perfect either.

As true as that was, he didn't realize just how good other students were with just raw, untrained talent. Looking through each other's portfolio, he noticed one girl had painted her interpretation of a world beyond life and death. It had to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, the colors seeming to jump out at him and clutch at his mind.

"Oh, that one is absolute crap. I meant to throw it away but my mom insisted I at least use it." She quickly shut the book and threw it behind her.

He remembered trying to act just as nonchalant as she did, but was utterly shocked at her standards of her own work. If she thought that masterpiece was crap, he might as well just burn his whole portfolio, move back into his parents' house and start working at the nearest take-out shop.

Everywhere Zayn turned, every corridor he walked down, every museum he toured was just a reminder of how genius other people seemed to be at this stuff. All of his professors gave him the same phrase: "You have an immense passion for art, I can tell. But somehow you're true potential just hasn't shown through quite yet."

But he didn't have passion for art, he didn't even really understand art. Sure, he could draw superheroes and spray cartoon characters on brick walls, but there was no deeper meaning behind a sketch of Spiderman. Everyone else considered art to be a mosaic of squiggly lines that represented starvation in China or a blank canvas that was "whatever you want it to be, man."

At that point he was just freshman, though. He had plenty of time to figure this thing out, he fit into the whole scene. Soon, he would be walking around with the same weird expression that everyone else had on their faces and running around with paint all over his clothes. He'd stay up way too late sculpting and get two minutes of sleep before class every morning. He'd sleepover in his mates dorm and spend the night debating who the Mona Lisa really was or if so &so was misunderstood or just a psychopath.

Two more years swept past him and Zayn did do most of what he secretly promised to himself. He soon developed that same weird, demented and tired look on his face but that was only because college was like a party themed "Not Quite Hell Yet, but You're Getting There". He'd stay up late at night but only he wasn't sculpting. The room next to him played metal core music until about 3 in the morning. According to the school, there wasn't much Zayn could do because "expression comes differently to us all". So, he'd go to class looking like he'd tried all night to kill someone who just wouldn't die.

He's made some real good mates, real artistic kids, and they'd hang about, but the things they talked about weren't quite what he expected.

"All I'm saying is if Bigfoot and Godzilla transformed into an all in one god of destruction, then the Tentacle Porn Monster would be of no use."  
"No use?!? He's a Tentacle Porn Monster, tentacles can tear apart anything limb from limb. Plus, if he links up with Jaws, it's all over."  
"And just how can he breath out of water?"  
"Anime defies all odds."

So here he was, a senior in art school, wishing he could paint himself a new reality to jump into like one of those child cartoons. Over and over, he'd paint and sculpt and draw and repeat. It felt like that layer of hell where you get chopped in half and put back together, just to be chopped up again. Eventually, he had gotten past trying force himself into becoming Andy Warhol. If he could at least pass his classes and not cut off his own ear, then he would deem himself a pretty sufficient artist. 

In honesty, he couldn't understand most of the masterpieces he looked at either. There was always some meaning behind all those colors that he couldn't get. Something about the inside of an artist's mind that he just couldn't grasp. Why did everything have a story? How come even commissioned art came across so complicated? The drawings and sketches he made were simple. 

Somehow though, he always found himself walking through the doors of Metropolitan Museum of Art exactly at 2pm every day. Although, it had nothing to do with the art. No, he was there for him.

It didn’t start out that way. He had meant to learn about the stuff. He had every full intention to understand the technique used to make that Van Gogh painting that kind of creeped him out. He really wanted to know what the statues were made out of. But then, damn it all, there he was. The one who just had to stand in front of The Venus of Urbino which Zayn was trying to see. And when Zayn finally screamed as loud as he could in a museum, the boy turned around, with a face that gave the Venus a run for her money. 

"Oh, sorry mate. I just really like this one. Never get enough time to just look at it. She's all yours now, though!" He smiled wide, and touched Zayn's shoulder as he brushed past him. Zayn couldn't help but notice how warm his touch was. He wanted that feeling all over him. He wanted to wrap himself in that type of warmth. 

"Wait," Zayn almost shouted. He turned on his heel, but somehow the boy had already walked far away. 

Zayn went back to the flat he shared with his mate Liam that night, replaying that single moment over and over again. Would he ever see Harry again? Did he just fuck up the single greatest chance fate had ever given him? But if it was fate, wouldn't he see him again? What would he say if he did? 

"For Christ sake, Zayn, will you please go to sleep? I can hear you whining all the way from my room." Liam shouted. He stood in front of the door way to Zayn's room and threw a pillow at his head. "I'm sure you'll see him again. And I'm sure you'll know what to say."

"Do you really think so, Liam?"

"Yes…now go to sleep or I will force you into slumber."

"How would you do that?"

"I…I don't know. Just shut up, would ya?"

As it turned out, Liam was right. Arriving at the Met again the next day, he searched and searched for Harry. After an hour went by and Zayn had lost all hope, he finally saw him. He was standing in front of a large, bronze statue of a warrior. Zayn took a moment to get his thoughts together and of course, fix his hair. 

Okay, so I'll just go up to him and say "Hey, remember me?" Oh, but what if doesn't actually remember me? What if I have to introduce myself? Hey, I'm Zayn and…and what? He'll be probably wondering why I'm even talking to him. I'll just slide into a conversation. "So, I see you’re into bronze men!" Oh no, that's awful. Maybe if-

"Oh hey, it’s you again!"

He lifted his head and immediately found himself looking into two sparkling green eyes. He felt his cheeks flush as he swallowed hard. 

"You come back today, I see. Was there something special you just had to see?"

This time Zayn noticed a nametag loosely pinned on the on the blouse the boy was wearing. Harry. 

"There's an exhibit I just really need to see…you know…before it goes away…forever…"

"Oh, which one?" Harry asked, his eyes getting wider. He rocked back and forth of his suede tan boots. 

"Um, the one about…that one painter…from the country…with the…war?" At this point Zayn was scratching at the collar of his shirt like a dog with fleas. 

"Hm," Harry started, tapping a finger at his chin," I don't think I know of that one, must have already left. Sorry about that."

"Oh."

There was a pause as the two stood there, Zayn facing the floor and Harry looking straight at him.

"But…I could give you a tour of the museum. You know, to compensate for the time you wasted. Best I can do as an intern."

Zayn had seen inside the Met before and though it was large, there wasn't much more he needed to see. He wouldn't get it anyway. But if a free tour meant he could spend about an hour talking with Harry, he was all for it.

So, he followed him to see the Monet paintings, a section filled with lilies and women in long Sunday dresses. Then there were statues from ancient made of bronze and marble, depicting large men with swords and thick beards. Next, the paintings and sculpture that originated from China with foamy waves and beautiful women with illuminated white faces.

Harry knew everything about all it. All the stories and meanings that Zayn couldn't understand, Harry did. He got it somehow and he was fascinated by all of it. Meanwhile, Zayn was fascinated by how passionate Harry was about it. It was as if he could spend hours just going on and on talking about art. And he did.

"Everyone thinks Van Gogh was just this nut who cut his ear off. And yeah, he was a tad bit messed up in the cranium but he was brilliant, too. Also, legend says that he may have actually lost his ear in a fight. Either way, it ended up in the hands of a prostitute."

Zayn stood next to him, bumping shoulders and stared blankly at the painting. "…Why do you know this?"

Harry giggled and turned to face him. "I don't know, but…I just do. I've always loved art. It's beautiful and majestic and everything tells a story, whether it was commissioned or not. I would've probably tried my luck at it if my parents hadn't forced me to go to dental school."

"Dental school?" Zayn would have burst out laughing if he hadn't noticed the melancholic look on Harry's face. Zayn's parents hadn't been all that keen on him going to art school either, but they got over it and that was a miracle in itself. And if his parents could learn to give their dreams of him becoming a surgeon up, he was sure someone else's could.

"Yeah…it's complicated. But at least I've got this internship, you know. And I still get to paint and take photos on my own time. They never actually said I had to become a dentist." 

"I think we both know that was their intention, though."

"Eh." Harry shrugged his shoulders and moved on towards the next painting. Everything he did, every movement was so cavalier but he appeared so graceful. He was beauty in motion and nothing in the entire museum could compare to him. Just looking at him sent chills down Zayn's spine, like hearing a beautiful note ring through the air. 

"Are you hungry? I'm incredibly hungry. Let's get food." Harry announced as he walked towards Zayn and in the direction of an exit sign. 

"But you're shift isn't over yet, is it?"

"No, but it's already 5 and most people are leaving at this time anyways. Plus, there's tons of ways to get out of here without going through the lobby. Meaning, they'll never catch me alive!" 

Grabbing Zayn's hand, which caused his skin to heat up, they tunneled through a cramped hallway with a door at the end opening up into an alley. Harry pointed his hand across the street to a place called Sal's Place. Without saying another word, Harry dragged Zayn the rest of the way.

"This place makes the best hoagies or subs or whatever you want to call them. Oh, unless you're vegan? Are you vegan? Please tell me you're not vegan." 

Zayn could barely focus on his words as he felt Harry's hands against his back as him pushed them through the door. "No, I'm not vegan. I don't eat pork, though."

"That's fine, take a seat." The booth was warm to the touch as if someone else had just been there. The whole place looked like it was straight out of a James Dean movie. The checkered striped floor, the red stools and booths, the jukebox in the back. With his black leather jacket, he felt like he fit in perfectly.

A waitress donned in a pink dress with a hairdo that seemed very dependable on hairspray swished her way up to their table. From the way her and Harry reacted to seeing each other, they must had been quite familiar with each other. 

"Hey, honey! Boy, am I glad to see you. You wouldn't believe who Marlene is dating as we speak! And my, did you hear about-" She stopped suddenly when she finally had noticed Zayn's presence. Her eyes got wide before she smiled and winked at him. "And who might I ask is this tasty little Boston cream pie?" 

"Jeannette, this is Zayn. Zayn, Jeannette." 

"Uh, hi." Zayn replied with a shy smile.

"Hello, darling! Not every day Harry brings someone around here. Especially not someone this delicious looking."

"Jeanette!" Harry cheeks turned red within an instant which caused the same effect for Zayn. 

“Well, I’m just saying! Look, what can I get you boys?”

“I’ll just have my usual.”

“Alright, and for you, honey bunches of oats?”

There were some many choices, Zayn was sure to actually make a decision would take him at least three hours. But he could feel both their eyes on him and eyes tend to have a rushing effect on people like Zayn.

“Um, I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Sounds like a beauty to me! That’ll be coming right up, baby-cakes.” She quickly wrote down the order and swished back away, her skirt hiked up above her butt. 

“That was extremely embarrassing, sorry about that.” Harry apologized. Zayn began to giggle at how humiliated he looked. To think, calm, cool, and collected Harry now looked like a child whose mother had just made him look like a huge dork in front of the whole class. 

“Nah, I really liked all that attention. I’ve never really been fawned over like that.”

“You’re joking right?” Harry’s face was one of disbelief. 

“No, I’m not exactly big man on campus. Can’t see why that’s hard to believe.”

“Well, I mean…you know…you’re beautiful.”

The words shot through Zayn’s ear like a bullet. This amazing boy, one of the most attractive people he had ever seen in his life, thought that he was beautiful. Harry, who looked like the imitation of an angel, thought that Zayn was beautiful. Someone who easily was more spectacular than the moon, the sun, and the stars above, thought that Zayn was beautiful. Zayn didn’t think he was hideous either. He knew he looked pretty good. But just the idea that someone who he thought looked even better felt that he was beautiful was more than just an ego boost. It was like hearing Aphrodite call a mere mortal a work of art.

“Shut up.”  
…  
Walking back outside, Zayn’s skin remembered how cold it was. The November air hit against his uncovered cheek. His jacket wasn’t doing enough to keep him warm. Harry on the other hand looked perfectly snug in his shearling. His lips were a scrumptious pink color as he bit on them as if to warm them up.

“I guess I should go back and finish staring at a Pollock painting. All those splats really get me going.”

“Really? You’re into weird stuff like that.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

A silence went through the air. The sexual tension between the two was enough to keep them warm for the rest of the day. 

“So…” Zayn started. He didn’t know what to say or do now. All there was to do now was to say goodbye and go their separate ways. 

“So, you’re coming back tomorrow?” Harry finished.

“Um…if you want…me to?”

“Of course I do! I mean…you know because…there’s tons of other things for me to teach you about…”

The way that he didn’t say ‘art’ at the end made Zayn curious and sent his libido into overdrive. “Right, of course. So much more for me to pretend to understand.”

Their laughs filled the air and for a minute, it felt like the whole city had just stopped. Time had just froze for them and for a minute they’d get to be like this forever.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow. Definitely.”

Tomorrow happened and then so did the next day and the day after that. Zayn would walk in at 2 and find Harry drooling over some painting he’d seen a thousand times. Harry would pretend to be giving a tour and Zayn would pretend to be getting one. They would sneak out through the same alleyway and go to same restaurant, eat the same food, and talk about the all the things that they always loved talking about. Some would compare them to an old married couple, doing the same boring things all the time. But there was something comforting about having a routine. It made them something even though they didn’t exactly know what they would be defined as. 

And Zayn felt that he could be okay with that. That just being around Harry was enough without naming it. But they were together so much that it only felt right to put a title to whatever this was. He wanted to start telling other people about who he was hanging out with all the time. He wanted Harry to meet his friends and he wanted to finally meet Harry’s friends. He wanted to do other things together, he wanted to stop being scared to hold hands because he felt like he was rushing things. All those things that you got from giving a name to your companionship, they were all the things he urged for. 

But he could never tell if it was also what Harry wanted. Sometimes they would sit in front of a painting and their hands would almost touch. He’d wait forever for Harry’s fingers to creep up on his. Or they’d talk about parties they went to but never mentioned going together. It was as if Zayn was digging for answers from every move Harry made and always came up with nothing.

So, there they were, standing outside of a coffee shop when Zayn almost threw up from Harry’s words.

“Hey, how about you come over to my flat today?”

“What?” He almost stomped onto a poodle that walked past him. He had to control the expression on his face in comparison to that of Harry’s calm look.

“Well, I just thought maybe you’d like to come over. I mean, since we’re always hanging around town. I thought it be nice to just do something at my house. And we’d have some privacy since I don’t have a roommate and there won’t be any dead artists around.” He giggled at his last words as they started walking back to the museum. 

“Oh…well yeah. I’d lo- really like do that.” He quickly switched his words. As much as he wanted to be someone to Harry, he was still to hesitant to be the first to do something about it.

“Alright then, we’ll leave right after I get off.”

The hours between now and then couldn’t have been any longer. Yet, it still wasn’t enough time for Zayn to calm himself down. In only a few minutes, he’s been inside Harry’s house. They wouldn’t be surrounded by tens of millions people. Just them. In his house. Alone. 

“You ready, then?” 

“What?” He almost jumped off the bench his was sitting on, startled by Harry’s presence. “Oh, oh yeah. I’m cool.”

“Ok, let’s go.” He giggled again. He was always giggling. Zayn wondered what he always found so funny about every word that Zayn said. But he was also scared that if he called him out on it, he wouldn’t get to hear that soft giggle anymore. And he really loved that damn giggle.

If Harry’s car was any indication of his flat, then he was quite a unique person. The inside of his car smelled like peppermint, the way his breath always did, but also like he once had a box of carryout in there. There was stuff along the dashboard that slid when he drove: a gold pendant, a mini snow globe from Kentucky, a pizza menu, and the number of someone named Kelsey. The backseat was his throwaway spot as in everything in his hands got thrown back there. Soda bottles, pizza boxes, sweaters, backpacks, magazines, you name it. But it was cozy and inviting and Zayn wouldn’t mind if they just spent the night here. But before he could lose himself in the leather seats, Harry pulled to a large complex building. 

“Come on.” He commanded as he leaped out the car and shut the door behind him. Before Zayn could do the same, Harry quickly ran around and threw the door open. The two made brief eye contact before bursting into laughter.

“You’re certainly in a hurry.” Zayn teased.

“Yes, but I’m also a gentleman in a hurry.” Harry responded. 

In a matter of seconds, they were bounding up the steep steps up to Harry’s place on the 4th floor. When asked why they couldn’t just take the elevator, Harry’s response worried Zayn: “I like to wear my visitors out before I… well, that’s not important.”

With someone like Harry, Zayn wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he opened the door. Surprisingly, the inside was nowhere near like his car. Tidy didn’t even being to explain how immaculate the place looked. Everything seemed to have its place. The tables and countertops all looked like they had just been wiped down. The hardwood floor appeared to almost sparkle. His furniture all looked perfectly in line with each other. Even the ceiling looked without a speck of dust. All his pictures and paintings were arranged by size. Zayn was almost terrified to even move, for fear of getting it dirty.

“Hey, can you take your shoes off please?” Harry asked, standing behind him and taking his own boots off.

“Oh sure. This place is…really…” He stumbled to pull his combat boots of his feet and almost fell into an aloe plant.

“Clean? Yeah, but it’s only in here. I’m just a freak about visitors thinking I’m tidy. That’s why my bedroom is off limits.” The last line came out sounding like a threat. Zayn just nodded his head in agreement, taken aback a bit.

“Except for you, of course.”

He wasn’t sure how to take that, but either way it made his temperature rise and his blood rise in…other places.

“So,” Harry said walking towards the living room, “since I planned this last minute, I didn’t really think through what we should do. But I have tons of old French films, a recipe for chicken carbonara, and a week old box of chocolates. Is it okay if we do something with that?”

The worried look on Harry’s face made Zayn want to bury him in his chest and hug him forever. Even when Harry had no idea what he was doing, he somehow still managed to come across as incredibly smooth.

“Yeah, that’d be really nice!”

“Great, but I must warn you. I’m alright with art, but maybe not so fantastic at cooking.”

Just like with all other things about himself, Harry didn’t seem to realize just how incredible he was at cooking. Zayn had offered to help out, but that was practically useless. Harry moved at the speed at lighting in the kitchen and Zayn couldn’t even attempt to keep up with him. It would take Zayn a least ten minutes to grate cheese, but Harry would be done chopping vegetables within seconds. Many times Zayn barely escaped getting severed by him running from the fridge to the stove with a knife in his hands.

But Harry was much calmer as they sat down to eat. Zayn fell in love with the way he would tell a story and look at the food suspiciously, as if his plate was a teleprompter. He would listen intently with his mouth totally full.

Afterwards, the two curled up on the couch to watch some film called “Ce Moment, Pour Toujours”. Zayn had no idea what that meant but Harry described it as a movie where “this guy dies and this lady cries about it until this other guy shows up and then someone else dies because of him…or is it that another movie? …Oh, wait, no…no this one is about…”  
Since it was in French, the whole thing solely depended on subtitles. Although Zayn was sure he could fall asleep on it and probably understand what was going on. He would have fallen right to sleep if he hadn’t noticed how into the movie Harry was. He had claimed to have seen it about 7 times but here he was watching it like the first. It felt wrong to just pass out during something that made him so happy. It also felt wrong to deny his drooping eyes.

“Oh, this is the best part!” Harry practically screamed.

Zayn perked up a bit and faced towards the screen. There was a woman standing under tree, staring straight up towards the sky. A man stood several feet away from her, across the street waiting for traffic to stop. As cars and trucks zoomed by, the camera and the man’s focus stayed on her. Nothing else was going on. Eventually, the woman walked away and continued down the sidewalk in the other direction. The man hailed a cab and was off on his way. 

“I don’t get it, what happened?” Zayn asked, puzzled. He kept waiting for something more dramatic to occur. But no there was no sight of the woman and the man was in a business meeting.

“You’ll see in a bit.” Harry replied with a smile.

So Zayn waited and waited. The man left his meeting and went to lunch at a nearby bagel shop. Then he walked around the street some more until he went back into the building to finish some more work. He had some boring conversation with his co-workers before leaving later in the day.

“Here it comes.”

Now Zayn was even more alert. What the hell was he talking about, absolutely nothing was going on. The man walked outside and waited for the traffic to stop. But he when looked to his side, the same woman he saw under tree early was next to him. She was absolutely beautiful. The man turns to her and says quite blankly “I love you. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life and I want to marry you someday. I feel like I’ve known you my whole life and there is nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my love falling even more in love with you. There is absolutely nothing I crave more than to forever stand in your presence.”

The woman does nothing, doesn’t even say a word. In fact, she nor anyone else even takes notice of the man’s presence. Traffic stops and everyone walks across as if nothing happened. The man walks home and goes to sleep that night. 

“What…what happened?” Zayn asked, confused, “Why didn’t she do anything? She didn’t even notice him or anything. I don’t understand why she didn’t…”

Suddenly, Harry went into a fit of giggles, almost falling off the couch. He held his stomach as he laughed even harder. Zayn stared down at him sternly, almost embarrassed.  
“What, what’s so fucking funny, Harry?” he almost shouted.

Harry sat back, collecting himself back together and staring Zayn dead in the eye, not one bit bothered by the look on his face. “You don’t get, do you? The guy never actually said any of that stuff to her. It was all in his head. He does that a lot throughout the rest of the movie. But that scene right there, is my favorite…especially recently.”

“What do you mean recently?”

Harry was quiet for much too long. He just kept staring at the floor as if it was going to give him advice on what to say. Finally, he picked his head back up and started to smile.   
“Well, it reminds me of when we first met. You know the first time I saw you and walked away quickly. I couldn’t forget your face the rest of the day. And then when I saw you the next day…well…that stuff he said…it was like all the stuff I wanted to say to you. All the stuff I still want to say to you.”

Zayn didn’t know what to say next because his heart was beating so fast. He cheeks felt hot and chills ran down his back several times. He feel could his mouth wanting to crack into the widest smile he had ever given. He had never felt this good in his life, he had never had anyone feel like that about him. He craved this feeling and he wanted to bottle it up forever. 

“Well…why didn’t you just say that?” he replied simply.

“I don’t know, “Harry breathed out deeply, running a hand through his hair, “I’ve never been all that good with expressing my feelings especially…really strong feelings. I kind of just have to find other ways to express it without saying the words.”

As precious as that was, Zayn couldn’t accept that. If you felt that strongly about someone, you’d have to fight yourself from wanting to say the words at every chance you got. That’s how Zayn felt, at least. It was as if his love for Harry would just spring right out of him and any person near him would be made aware of it. He needed to hear Harry say the words so he could say them too. He needed to know that they were both capable of letting it not slip out but that it was easy to just…say.

“Harry, I need to hear your say it. Please. I just need to hear it come out your mouth. I just need to know you can.”

Another silence pierced the air. Zayn’s heart leapt with every second that went by with nothing said. He wasn’t sure what he would do. Even if Harry didn’t say it, that couldn’t kill what he truly was feeling inside. And how could he deal with that if it was unrequited? He’d just have to keep pretending that it didn’t matter when it did. How could he just-

“I love you.”

“What?” He truly didn’t fully hear the words even though he knew they came out.

There was that damn giggle again. “I love you, Zayn Malik. I love you so fucking much that I can’t even breathe sometimes when I’m around you. My heart always feels like it’s beating too fast and all I can think about is kissing you into the late night. I love you so much, I do. I love y-“

At that moment Zayn’s lips hooked onto his as he pushed Harry onto his back. Wrapped in each other’s hands, it felt like they were melting into each other. If they were, Zayn wanted time to slow down so he could burn into Harry’s chest. His lips were hot and chapped against Zayn’s but he loved it. The whole place could start burning down and he wouldn’t give a shit if they were still like this.

Finally, their lips parted and two brown eyes stared back into two green eyes. They were searching and searching, hearts heavy and breathing hard. 

“I love you, Harry Styles. I love you so, so much. I could die right now and I wouldn’t even care because I’m here with you and I love you. God, I love you, it’s fucking incredible.”

Their lips pressed together one more time and Zayn could tell Harry was leading now. The movement were more slow and controlled. 

“I love you, Zayn.”

“I know. I love you, Harry. I’d cut my ear off for you.”

“I’d rather you throw yourself against a canvas. You know how Pollock gets me going.”

“Right. I’ll remember that.”


End file.
